


Recompense

by sasha_b



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shane and Sophia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recompense

**Author's Note:**

> Set during **Tell It To The Frogs**.

The heat is oppressive, which is nothing new. Shane wipes his face and stands at the top of the gorge, watching the women circle around Ed and Carol – well, Carol, really, as Ed is curled into a fetal position on the ground, Carol crying over him, her hands fluttering over his battered face. 

Shane’s fists clench, stiff fingers cracking, his vision spotty, the rage he’d felt – blinded him, filled him with everything he needed, fists and fury and blood – fading quickly, indecision and (he shouldn’t think like that) slight worry etching a frown on his face. The trees bend near him, and he absently runs both his hands over his head, fingers catching in his thick hair.

He wonders – just for a second – what Rick’ll say. And then he spits to the side and laughs, ‘cause it doesn’t matter what Rick says. This was _all_ Shane and all Shane’s doing and he doesn’t fucking care. That bastard deserved the beating for being a shit and goddamn if Shane doesn’t protect the weak.

“To protect and serve,” he mumbles, feeling for the Glock he wears at his waist. That asshole’s lucky Shane hadn’t gone for the gun.

He hears Lori calling for Carl.

Frogs start to sing as it gets closer to night, the sun still hot as a mother, beating down, baking him, turning his brain into mush, and he hears Lori again and he backs up just slightly, watching the women, spine resting against a tree, prickly bark scratching him as he sucks in air and looks at his scraped and bloody knuckles and thinks of what kind of a man he could have been if Rick hadn’t come back. He thinks of Carl and how the boy needs something he’s not getting, and how he and Shane have a rapport that Shane treasures more than –

He’d left Rick there to die. He can’t ever forget that, ‘cause life would irrevocably not be worth squat if he forgets that and Shane’s not likely to give up any kind of guilt in regards to Rick – or Lori and Carl – anytime soon.

That way lies madness – a crackle in the bushes and he’s turning, gun in his hand, eye sighting perfectly, instinct proving just what kind of man he _is_ \- the little girl sticks her head out, hands up. Her face is tear tracked and her hair is full of brambles and her clothing has definitely seen better days.

The sun begins to set behind her head and Shane barks out a sigh and holsters his gun. He squats in front of her as she approaches, his knees popping like ricocheting bullets in the sudden silence. Except for the fucking frogs. 

“Sophia,” he bites off. “Girl, why aren’t you with your momma?” _Or your daddy, who doesn’t give two shits about you._ “I could have shot you. Don’t sneak up on a man like that.”

“They’re yelling. You were yelling.”

Out of the mouths of babes and all that shit.

He wets perpetually dry lips and shakes his head. “Yeah, and adults do that some times. We’re dumb like that.” He tries to get her to smile by cracking one himself, but she looks at his hands and then at his waist, where his gun is settled. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“I don’t like it.”

He stills for a minute, sweating, mosquitoes flitting around his ears with a cacophony of whining and he can feel them biting him and he cocks his head and looks at the blond girl, alone in the camp of adults, the other children different than her no matter their best intentions. Her eyes are black with shadow and her face white and pinched.

_Shane, get your ass in the house, boy! How many times do I have to warn you?_

He stands and puts out his hand. “I’ll take you back ta camp, ‘k? We can find something to play with. Say a card game, you know?”

Brilliant sunset, frogs chorusing, water rushing from behind him, the crying of Carol faded away into nothingness. Shane holds out his hand, unafraid that she won’t take it. He waits.

Sophia bites her lip and suddenly sticks out her tiny hand, sticklike in his giant grip. He’d thought she’d feel like a bird, weak and hollow, but she doesn’t – the strength in her girl-child hand is surprising. And yet.

“Y’wanna find Carl? I bet he’d play with us.” Shane wraps his fingers, used to holding a gun or infrequently Lori’s hair (fuck’s sake he’s not going there) snuggly about Sophia’s small ones, doubting – 

She grips tighter and he lets go an involuntary breath, resisting the urge to rub his face and begins to lead her toward the camp and away from the carnage that is her parents. He aches for Carol suddenly, but Lori’s voice _again_ breaks through his reverie and he can only ache for himself right now.

They walk to camp, various people passing them (he guesses the word about Ed hasn’t gotten around yet; it will) and Carl runs up when they arrive at the RV. Sophia lets go of his hand, but before she takes off after the boy and his promise of a _I’ll let you chase and find me game_ she squints up at Shane, her hair haloed by the fire of the blastingly orange and pink and every fucking color in the world sunset. He can barely see her face.

“Okay?” she asks.

He swallows, roughly.

“Sure, honey.” Hand on the butt of his gun. “Hey, Carl!” The little boy turns and smiles white teeth at Shane. “Don’t get out a sight, m’man.” Carl nods and he and Sophia race off around Lori, who’s carrying some kind of folded blanket and stops and gives Shane that _look_ and he turns, feeling her hair in his fingers instead of the cool metal of the Glock.

He swallows again and turns from the camp to the darkness and the trees and the frogs that never cease their endless chirping.


End file.
